Enraptured and Entwined
by fallingfireflies
Summary: ONESHOT - TMR/HP time-travel MOD slash! Six years after the end of the war, Harry finds himself in possession of the three Hallows. What better thing to do with them than use them to go back to 1938 and go to Hogwarts and converse with Tom Riddle? Basically, their years at Hogwarts (up to year five, because that's where it ends) and changing the future without meaning to.


Hello! This, my lovely readers, is a oneshot I have been working on! You may criticize it if you wish, but please be gentle. I worked my ass off on this and it's also my first ever attempt at NC-17. Because yes, there is a sex scene in this (only it kind of skips the actual sex part). Also, there are a great number of plot holes, but I'm too damned lazy and relieved at its finish to go back and fill them. I also know that I have people alive at this point that weren't really, and have invented a few purebloods for my personal convenience. Shoot me.

This is my obligatory TMR/HP time travel MOD fanfic. Don't judge me, everyone writes one at some point. I really hope you like it. Like, really, really hope so. Enjoy!

-Nel (_fallingfireflies_)

* * *

**Enraptured and Entwined**

**I**

Harry looked down at the stick of magic wood that he had just tripped over. The Elder Wand – just lying there, as if completely harmless. Harry knew better than most that it was in fact _not_ harmless. If anything, it was the most harmful wand he had ever come across. It no doubt had been the reason for hundreds of deaths.

_Not deaths, murders,_ his mind supplied. Yes, murders indeed.

Harry bent down and gingerly picked up the wand, which he knew was made of a twig from an elder tree. Hadn't he broken the damn thing years ago? Yes, he was positive that was what happened. Snapped it then threw it down hundreds of feet, he did.

So what was it doing here now?

The twenty-three year old savior of the wizarding world scowled at the wood and decided to ignore it. Hopefully, it would magically disappear, just as it had appeared today. Harry stood from where he had fallen to the ground and walked towards the kitchen of Grimmauld Place, where he chose to stay after the end of the war.

After Voldemort was defeated, Harry did not do what was probably expected of him. He did not marry a pretty girl (Ginny) and recreate his parents' wonderful life. He didn't play a large part in politics (other than voting for all creature rights). He didn't become a highly decorated auror and take out the rest of the Death Eaters and other dark, "evil" wizards and witches. In fact, very few people knew what became of him at all.

Instead, he locked himself up in his godfather's old home and began reading. Yes, to Hermione's great shock, the Golden Boy willingly _read_. And with reading, comes knowledge, and there are a great many books in the ancient Black library.

Harry was aware that his intelligence levels were skyrocketing. He found himself able to wrap his mind around theories he never had before and it was thrilling. He now understood why Hermione was such a bookworm while in Hogwarts.

Unfortunately, there was a downside to this new development, as there always was. He found himself much more intuitive and smarter than others his age, namely Ron. Very few things mattered to the ginger boy, even as he matured. One of them was quidditch, while Harry found his interest in the sport waning.

But what was more surprising was when he spoke with Hermione and realized that his intelligence bested even hers. He tried to have a conversation with her but she was lost halfway through. It was inevitable that after a while, he wished for a true opponent – someone who could match Harry's wit and talent.

And who should he think of other than Tom Riddle? He was the greatest halfblood to ever grace the halls of Hogwarts, after all. But Tom was dead, and there was no way to bring back the deceased.

Harry opened the door of the kitchen and stumbled back in shock when a hard object hit his head. He winced and rubbed the spot it hit as he bent to see what _it_ was.

The Resurrection Stone.

Harry reared back in astonishment and subsequently found himself back on the floor. He put out his hand to steady himself and it landed on a same stick of wood from only moments earlier.

The Elder Wand and the Resurrection Stone. Two-thirds of the Deathly Hallows and the third one was folded in his desk upstairs. Weren't both of these objects destroyed?

He carefully picked up the stone; it was still attached to the Gaunt ring. The crack that once ornamented it was no longer there. In fact, it was as if it had never broken at all. With dawning amazement (and no small amount of horror) he lifted the wand from the floor and saw that it, too, had no cracks from where he had snapped it.

He stood with the objects in his hands and stared for a minute longer before suddenly whirling around and throwing the ring as hard as he could down the hallway. It soared through the air for less than a second until it came in contact with a steel bar connected to the wall. Before Harry's eyes, the stone shattered into dozens of pieces. With a nod of content Harry looked at the wand, snapped it as he did before, and threw it towards the pile of stone fragments.

He then took out his own holly and phoenix feather wand and banished both broken Hallows to the deepest of the oceans. Harry sheathed his wand and walked to the kitchen again, only to find himself on the floor once more.

"_Bloody fucking hell!_"

Harry glared at the silvery material of his invisibility cloak and had to fight the temptation of banishing it as well. But getting rid of it would do no good since it was all he had of his father. Also, it was very useful and Harry wasn't one to ruin something that helped him time and time again during the war.

So instead, Harry banished it back to his bedroom and set about making himself some breakfast.

While he was scrambling eggs and stirring tea, Harry pondered the strange occurrence of all three Hallows appearing to him. A few years ago, he would have been clueless and would likely go to Hermione for help understanding what predicament he was in. However, it had been six years since the war ended and therefore it had been six years since he had been clueless.

Besides, he was just thinking about how his intelligence levels were staggering. He wasn't about to dispute that _now_. Although he would admit to being sorely tempted to pretend the Hallows showing up had never happened.

But it did, so Harry needed to focus on the details: the Hallows randomly appeared after two of them had not been seen for six years.

The wand appeared when Harry had been hoping for a partner equal to him. More specifically: Tom Riddle. The stone appeared when he was thinking that he wished to speak to someone clever again. More specifically: Tom Riddle. Why did his cloak show up? He wasn't sure yet, but he had no doubt that it was somehow connected to the heir of Slytherin.

With a sigh, Harry set his plate on the table and sat down on a stool. He took a bite of his toast but spit it out quickly when he felt a sudden weight on his shoulders. He looked back and saw his cloak clasped and flowing down his back, moving disturbingly like the veil. He also noticed the ring with the stone once more rested on his left middle finger.

He cried out and raised his wand as an immediate reaction. He was shaking with an embarrassing amount of fright at the thoughts swirling in his head. Why else would the Hallows be here unless it was because they were his? Did he own them now? No, it wasn't possible. He didn't want to own them! The Hallows have brought him nothing but pain and death!

With his wand, he banished the ring again but then froze. For in his hand was not his holly wand, but that of elder. He watched with rising horror as the ring did not disappear, but instead began to glow a bright gold. Or was it silver? Or green? Red? Blue?

The colors were changing so quickly and Harry couldn't keep up. He noticed faintly that the wand and cloak were glowing as well. What was going on? Did the one thing he'd hoped desperately wouldn't happen, happen? Were the legends correct? He had now held and wielded all three Hallows. Was he their master?

Was he the Master of Death?

"No!" He cried. "No, no, no! It's not true!"

"Sorry kid, but I'm afraid it is."

Harry turned so quickly, he doubted most people would have seen anything more than a blur. "Who are you?" He asked, hoping he successfully managed to hide his fear. He had his suspicions but… no! Death was a stage! You live then you die! Death is not an _entity_!

"My name is Death-"

_No!_

"-but you are not my master."

_No, no, n- wait._

"What?" Harry asked as he took in the being. It was tall and resembled a dementor, but Harry was left with none of the usual bad feelings. Death reminded him of just a normal human.

"Yeah, the tales got that wrong. Instead of mastering Death, you become it." Though unable to see its face, Harry was left with the vague impression that it was giving a twisted grin.

"What? Become death? So, what, I die?" He felt like he was missing something…

"No, you stupid boy. I am Death. When you master the Hallows, you become Death." Harry's mouth dropped wide.

"No! I don't want to become you! I don't want to spend my time feared and having to end lives!"

"Ah, but you're forgetting some things. Imagine all of the power you would hold over someone-"

"No, I don't want the power! I've never wanted the power."

"Au contraire, kid. You've always wanted the power; you've just never wanted the things that come with it. You know, greed, insanity, that kind of thing. Smart of you."

"But becoming Death will make me those things." He stared up at the black creature.

"Not necessarily. It's not about having the power; it's about how you use it." Death began to fade slowly. Harry felt himself gaining the power it held. He had to forcefully remind himself not to cry.

"No," he whined pitifully as a last attempt.

"C'mon kid, it's not that bad. Now you can do the one thing you've wanted to do for months." Harry just leaned his elbows on the table, his form hunched with confusion and sadness.

That night, when Harry fell asleep his mind was loaded with everything he could do now that he was Death. When he woke in the morning, he had regained some of the childish excitement he hadn't displayed since he was in his late teens.

He stood in front of a mirror and examined himself. He had never reached a great height, for the years at his relatives' house left him smaller than he should have been. His eyes were unhindered by glasses. When he was eighteen, he had them magically fixed and if asked, he would claim it was the best idea he ever had.

But if his new knowledge was true, he was going to have to learn to live with them again.

His hair was the darkest of blacks and his skin a few shades from white. His deep, emerald green eyes glowed with power and knowledge.

And on the back of his neck… a strange symbol, glossy and comparable to a tattoo done in emerald green ink. It was a triangle with a circle in it touching all three sides; and bisecting both geometric shapes was a line. It was the symbol of the Deathly Hallows, forever burnt on the back of his neck, on display for anyone willing to look.

Harry was also thin and lean with just enough muscle, and it seemed as though he always would be. This was how he would look for now on, since he wouldn't age.

No, he wouldn't age, but magic is spectacular, so he could _de _-age.

Harry smirked as his body seemed to rewind until he was looking at his eleven-year old self with round glasses and protruding ribs. He fixed his robes so they would fit, transfigured his glasses so they were thicker and more rectangular – scholar glasses, he thought to himself – and backed a few feet away from the mirror.

His cloak was on his shoulders. His shiny ring was on his finger. His new wand was gripped tightly in his right hand.

"To 1938," he mumbled quietly to himself before he disappeared with a flash of golden light.

* * *

**II**

Tom Riddle was nothing if not intelligent. In fact, he prided himself in being smarter than any eleven-year-old he had ever met. But he had more than wit. No, he was much more special than that. And it was only recently that he finally figured out what it was.

Magic! Of all things! There was a whole community of magical people where he wouldn't be condoned for being freakish. Instead, he would be _praised_!

And to top it all off, he would be able to go to a purely magical school for nine months of the year and get away from the dreadful orphanage.

Tom was excited at the prospect of getting away from Mrs. Cole, but was careful of not showing it. It would be stupid to let anyone realize that he dreams of torturing everyone who makes his life hell. After all, Tom Riddle was nothing if not intelligent. He couldn't afford to show Dumbledore anything other than perfection, lest he catch on to his… _darker_ tendencies.

Unfortunately, he had already slipped once, and he realized that he may have already screwed up his chances.

Tom looked down at his small pile of books. One of the only downsides was that he was still an orphan and therefore had no money to buy his materials with. He had to instead use a limited amount that was given to him – the same amount that all orphans got.

But he was lucky that just the day before an anonymous contributor had donated a large sum to the Hogwarts vault, which left him able to buy more books about the wizarding world.

He scowled when he thought about how he didn't know what he was. Purebloods were obviously the most superior and the best of all magicals, while halfbloods didn't hold a candle to them. And the magic of _muggleborns_ must be weak compared to the others!

According to the man at the book store, Hogwarts had a large library. Hopefully he could figure out his heritage that way.

* * *

Tom dropped onto the compartment seat with no expression on his face. Inside, however, he was fighting his excitement. He had just boarded the Hogwarts Express and managed to snag an empty compartment. He knew that was smart because now instead of him having to go around and introduce himself to gain allies, _they_ would have to come to _him_. Even more so if the train fills up and they need the room he can provide.

Only ten minutes later, that is proven when the door opens and a boy his age is standing there and examining the near-empty compartment.

"Who are you? I don't know you, so you must be a mudblood." Tom managed to keep his displeasure locked away and instead looked at the boy. He had the features he was told to expect on the purebloods. Tom wasn't sure what a mudblood was, but by the tone it was obviously someone who wasn't pure. Muggleborns, maybe?

"I am Tom Riddle." He introduced, knowing not to offer his hand to a pureblood.

"I was right. You're just a mudblood. My mother says you're filth! You're not worthy to shine my shoes!" Tom was struggling to keep his composure and his anger in check. Just who did this kid think he was?

The boy answered his unasked question by sticking his nose in the air.

"My name is Mulinton Avery, heir to the Ancient and Most Noble House of Avery. And _you_ are scum."

"Now, now, Avery," both boys looked up in surprise at hearing another voice, especially since neither heard anyone approaching. Tom watched as Avery took on a mixed look of indignation and confusion.

"And just who do you think you are? Huh?" The new boy tsked. Tom studied him subtly. He wasn't sure who he was, but he wasn't a blond, so he wasn't a Malfoy. And his eyes weren't silver, so he wasn't a Black. In fact, he had some of the greenest eyes he'd ever seen. And he noticed that they were absolutely _glowing_ with power. But by Avery's harsh tone, he hadn't realized that.

"That isn't important at this minute. What _is_ important is the fact that you are currently criticizing someone with a great amount of power." Tom blinked in surprise. Did he mean Tom or himself? "Riddle here is obviously powerful, or are you really too stupid to realize that?"

Avery bristled and Tom found himself enjoying watching him get knocked down. Before the pureblood could say anything in retaliation, the new boy stepped around him and into the compartment, where he offered Tom his hand.

"My name is Horatio Peverell. It's a pleasure to meet your acquaintance, Tom Riddle." Tom wasn't sure of the significance of the name, but by Avery's reaction, it was pretty important. The pureblood stood there, jaw threatening to hit the ground and eyes wide with disbelief.

"P-P-Peverell," he mumbled weakly before practically thrusting his hand in Peverell's face. "Mulinton Avery, heir to the Ancient and Mo-"

Harry took his hand quickly and shook it before practically throwing it away and wiping his hand on his robes. "I'm afraid it's not as much of a pleasure, Avery, but I'll say it is anyhow." Avery gaped but did not insult Peverell again. Tom found himself fighting laughter… _laughter! Him!_ And Tom Riddle strictly does not laugh!

With a nod towards Tom (but no acknowledgement towards Avery), Peverell left the train compartment. Tom watched as Avery's eyes followed him as if he was the puppy and Peverell the master and he couldn't help but wish his name held power like that.

"Peverell," Avery mumbled to himself again. "I've insulted a Peverell." He then seemed to remember Tom and walked into his personal space quickly. "And he spoke to _you_! But why… why…" He cleared his throat and offered his hand. "My name is Mulinton Avery, heir to-"

Tom cut off his title and said his own name again before Avery turned on his heel and ran (no, not ran… walked elegantly, albeit quicker and more frenzied than perhaps is normal) out, yelling to a man named "Black" about a meeting with a Peverell.

So Tom was left alone with his thoughts, and he wasn't ashamed to say they mostly revolved around a boy named Horatio Peverell. He wondered the significance of the name and, after only twenty minutes of unanswered questions, he got his trunk down from the rack and looked through his books.

It took a while, but eventually he found the name in a history book. He was shocked and more than a little awed when he discovered that the most well-known Peverells were three brothers who were said to have been the first necromancers. They were recorded as some of the most powerful wizards alive until after a while, the name died out. It was assumed they were all dead but here was Horatio Peverell, living proof that there was in fact still a descendent of the great line.

It was no wonder Avery seemed so daunted; the name was practically royalty! Even Malfoys and Blacks don't compare to Peverells. And one spoke to _him!_ And called _him_ powerful!

If Tom didn't think it was beneath him, he might've fainted.

* * *

Tom was surprised when, less than an hour later, there was a group of about a dozen purebloods knocking on his compartment door. They were all third years or below and had heard of his meeting with Peverell. In the span of a few minutes, Tom gained powerful allies that he knew would prove useful in due time.

But to his displeasure, he realized that he owed Peverell a great deal. The assumed pureblood had just set Tom up for a successful beginning in Hogwarts, and Tom knew that if he played it right he could extend that to his whole Hogwarts education.

Tom also wanted to… _thank_ the boy. He had a feeling that Peverell knew exactly what he was doing when he introduced himself to the halfblood, so Tom found himself feeling it was his duty to acknowledge it.

Unfortunately, he wasn't found anywhere on the train and no one reported to have seen him until they arrived at Hogsmeade and made for the boats.

"Peverell!" Tom heard Avery shout, so the boy looked to where he was speaking. He was confused when he saw that he was looking almost right at Tom. "Come sit with us!"

If asked, Tom would say that he did _not_ jump when he heard a voice right by his ear.

"No thank you, Avery. I'll be sitting with Riddle for this trip." Avery practically toppled over his feet in his attempt to reach the two boys.

"Then I'll sit with yo-"

"No," Peverell… growled? Yes, that was definitely a growl. Tom watched as he grabbed the sleeves of the two closest people and tugged them closer. "They will be sitting with us."

Avery reluctantly walked back to his friends and Tom could faintly hear them yelling at him for making a fool of himself in front of Peverell. Tom turned when he heard a sheepish laugh.

"Sorry I just dragged you into this." Tom was shocked when he saw Peverell with his hand rubbing the back of his neck apologizing to the two girls he had grabbed. "You don't have to sit with us if you don't want to."

The girls exchanged looks before shrugging and they all stepped into an empty boat.

"So you're the Peverell everyone is talking about." One girl said in a thick Scottish accent.

The boy nodded and let out another laugh. "Yeah, my name is Horatio Peverell. Please, feel free to call me Horatio, or Harry. My friends call me Harry." Peverell rambled only slightly and Tom was surprised. Why did he want to be called such a muggle name? Horatio is unique and he had never met one before. But he knew that there were hundreds of "Harry's" in England alone.

The Scottish girl held out her hand. "My name is Minerva McGonagall. I'm a pureblood witch from Scotland, though I don't think one's blood should matter." Harry took her hand respectfully and turned towards the second girl.

"Anna-Maria Morales. If you don't mind me asking… why does everyone like you so much?" Tom sucked in his breath. She was obviously not pureblood nor was she smart enough to look it up. Showing a lack of knowledge is showing a flaw.

But Peverell just laughed and didn't say anything rude about her gap of information. "Have you heard of the Sacred Twenty-Eight?" The girl shook her head. "Well, it's basically a list of the only twenty-eight families that are truly still considered 'pureblood'. However, there were many pureblood families that were powerful that died out. Peverell was one of these." Tom saw that the girl didn't understand the importance and apparently Peverell saw it too.

"But the reason most respect me is because my ancestors were the first necromancers. Don't get the reactions mixed up, Morales. They don't like me; they fear the power I might have. That's useful when trying to gain alliances, but let me tell you: it's an absolute pain when looking for friends." He looked at the two girls slyly and Morales giggled. McGonagall just huffed, but Tom saw her smile before she looked away.

"I suppose I could be your friend. It wouldn't be _too much_ of an inconvenience." Tom was struck dumb again when Peverell responded to Morales' teasing with no anger.

"By the way, this is Tom Riddle." Tom focused again when he heard Peverell introduce him.

"Pleasure to meet you," he mumbled before realizing that this was his chance to practice charming someone. That was the method he was hoping would last him his years at Hogwarts.

After a quick boat ride, the four first years joined with the rest of the new students and made their way to the great hall for the sorting.

"Do you know how they sort us?" Morales asked Peverell. Tom admitted (only to himself) that he was curious as well and leaned forward to hear his words better.

He laughed. "I do, in fact, know how they sort us. But I'm not going to tell you." Morales pouted. "Just try not to jump!"

The two girls thought hard about what that could mean while Tom studied Peverell. As if sensing all of the conflicting thoughts he had, Peverell moved closer to speak in his ear. Tom noticed faintly that the boy was a good two or three inches shorter than himself.

"Rule number one: trust will get you further than fear ever will. Don't use big displays of power and threatening words to get you places. People can overcome their fears and stab you in the back. It's much less likely that they'll turn their backs on someone they love and trust."

Tom jumped in surprise. "I wasn't going to-"

But Peverell cut him off. "Don't lie to me Tom. You'll find I'm not easily lied to. You were planning on gaining the trust of the other houses, but not your own. You don't want to make friends, you want followers. It's not the way to go, trust me."

Tom scowled before schooling his face back to the charming façade. So Peverell figured him out, yes, but he wouldn't let anyone else be as intuitive. He jumped when he heard someone calling Avery's name.

Tom was confused as he watched students go up and put a _hat_ (of all things!) on their head. He was startled when said hat then _spoke_ and called out the house they were best suited for.

So he watched the sorting silently and tried to judge who he could charm and who he could scare into submission. He didn't care who Peverell thought he was; Tom thought he was too soft and therefore didn't understand how well scaring people worked.

He was mildly interested when McGonagall and Morales both were sorted into Gryffindor, but didn't truly watch until Peverell's name came up. As soon as it did, whispers started around the hall.

"_Peverell_, did he say? I thought they were all dead!"

"He'll be a Slytherin for sure; they were always dark."

"But he sure is cute, wouldn't you agree?"

At that last comment, Tom stood straighter. They thought Peverell was cute? Looks would be a good way to appeal to the females. What was so special about him that they liked? He was short and even skinnier than Tom. He wore glasses (he thought girls found them unattractive? He was sure he wasn't wrong) and his black hair was unruly and fell to just above his shoulders.

His own looks were similar. He was only a little taller and less bony. His hair was a shade lighter and well-managed. His eyes were a dark teal that couldn't choose between green and blue.

He decided that he was eleven and too young to care about looks. He could focus on them in a few years. For now, he watched as the ragged hat was placed on Peverell's head. He saw Peverell's lips moving, though it looked like he was whispering. Was he talking to the hat? It would make sense. If the hat can sing, it can surely talk. Though did it have enough intelligence to sort someone?

The hat opened its brim and yelled out: "SLYTHERIN!" There were many disappointed mutterings, but they were drowned out by the cheers from the snakes. Tom clapped too, and noticed Dumbledore's eyes glued to Peverell's form. Did he not know he would be here this year?

Tom walked towards the hat when his name was called and let it be placed on his head. As suspected, after a few seconds it began to speak.

_"__Ahh… what's this? Tom Marvolo Riddle… yes, yes, you're very intelligent, aren't you? And, oh! Such ambitions! Gryffindor and Hufflepuff are both out, for you are neither foolishly brave nor loyal. But… Ravenclaw or Slytherin I wonder…"_

Tom thought about how he wanted to _be_ someone and the hat chuckled.

_"__You wish to be someone? Someone like… Mr. Peverell? Ah, ah, ah, you can't hide that from me. You want your name to instill fear in hearts like his does. You know, you and he are rather similar…"_

Tom was offended at that. "Peverell is weak," he growled. "He wishes to make _friends_."

_"__I see, you don't think you need friendship. Very well, I'm not here to tell young children how wrong they are."_ Then, to the whole room, "SLYTHERIN!" Tom took off the hat and was left feeling strangely dissatisfied.

* * *

**III**

Tom figured it was just his luck getting stuck next to Peverell during the feast. Apparently, since they shared a boat and spoke for a while, they were expected to be close allies already. Of course, Tom knew that he really would be a good ally to have and that was the only reason he didn't mentally complain too much.

But then, _then_, he was stuck with him in the dormitories! Since purebloods are so damn vain they apparently refused to share a room with more than two people! So Avery was with Black and a boy named Dolohov, Lestrange was with Mulciber and Nott, and he was stuck with Selwyn and _Peverell_!

But Tom knew he shouldn't complain. No, he was practically gifted with such a wonderful opportunity. Although he could really do without having to share a _bathroom_ with the kid!

The first week went by quickly. Peverell didn't talk to anyone unless he had to and Tom found himself criticizing his actions. Why was he wasting such an opportunity to become powerful? But he didn't really mind since the spot was then left open for him.

Every few days, however, Peverell would manage to find him alone and would mumble something else to him. The first time he did so it was to tell him, "rule number two: appeal to the weak's interests. If they want someone who will protect them, claim that you will."

Tom scowled but accepted the advice anyways. Though really, he knew what he was doing!

But at least after the first week, Peverell seemed to catch on that he wasn't really wanted. But instead of becoming offended like Tom though he would, he just shrugged and backed off so Tom could gather followers himself. Of course, they didn't _know_ they were merely followers.

And after the first week ended, the rest of the first month was carried out much the same way. Tom managed to charm his teachers (all but one Professor Albus Dumbledore) and quickly took the top spot in all of his classes. Or, that's what he liked to tell himself. Unfortunately for him, there was just one person in his way.

_Peverell_.

It was always him! He was the teachers' favorite! Hell, even Dumbledore seemed completely taken with him! And he was easily the smartest first year in the school. It was _infuriating_!

And if that wasn't bad enough, he had the rest of the first years and a good sum of the second years under his spell as well! He claimed to be friends with all of them and of course they were just _begging_ for attention, the little brats that they were, so they accepted him like he was a damned _deity_!

Ugh! And it was all because he acted nice! Unwillingly, Tom began to wonder if perhaps he had the right idea. And so after the first month, the orphan resolved to be nicer to the other kiddies and try to get them to… _trust_ him. Just the thought alone left a bad taste in his mouth.

But not the Slytherins. Oh no, they did much better when they were fearful. Peverell could charm them all he wanted. Tom knew the right way to go about things in Slytherin. All he had to do was to show his exceeding amount of power and they would be worshipping his feet.

* * *

When Harry met little, 11-year-old Tom Riddle he was somewhat disappointed. The boy was far too sure of his own methods and was unwilling to take advice from anyone, even a Peverell. When Harry came to the past, his plans were to help him along for the first two years or so and then let him build and command his followers. But since he was so self-assured, Harry decided to just let him be and develop a good standing himself.

Meanwhile, Harry didn't really bother trying to hide his intelligence (to a certain point, of course. A first year talking about theories that haven't even been discovered yet would surely raise suspicion) and quickly took the top spot in all of his classes. It clearly angered Tom, which only made Harry want to do it more.

But it wasn't _Harry_ doing it, no, it was _Horatio Peverell_. And really, to him it was so obvious who (and what) he was. For starters, everyone knows that three brothers in the Peverell line were the first necromancers. If that didn't just _scream_ "The Tale of Three Brothers" and the Deathly Hallows, then he didn't know what would.

Then, the first name he chose: Horatio. It literally meant time-keeper! So time keeper, the Deathly Hallows, necromancy… the Master of Death. Or, really, just Death.

Add all of that to the fact that the symbol of the DH was forever embedded on the back of his neck… well; it was quite obvious to him. Not that he would ever let anyone close enough to see the symbol, but whatever.

But back to the point, Harry decided to let Tom Riddle figure everything out by himself. Harry could battle intelligence with him when he was older. For now, he wondered if he could find the other founder rooms in the great castle. While Tom searched for the Chamber of Secrets, Harry could explore it and perhaps he would find a portrait that could help him.

Harry sighed as he heard his name being uttered and looked up from his schoolwork to see Typhos Malfoy. He was Draco's great uncle or some such relation – Harry couldn't find it within himself to care. "Yes, Malfoy?" He asked and the blond stuck up his nose in obvious distaste of whatever he was about to do.

"Mulciber wishes to speak with you." Harry raised an eyebrow. And she couldn't come over to get him herself? She sent Typhos as a messenger? Foolish girl, if she did it again Malfoy wouldn't brush it off so quickly. He sighed again, though made sure not to make it noticeable. He still had to keep up with the charming, after all.

"Thank you Malfoy, I'll go speak with her now." And cue the smile with just the right amount of innocence… yes, like that. Malfoy sneered at him and was no doubt thinking he was too weak, but Harry didn't care. It was all one elaborate scheme, see, and maybe soon Tom would realize that.

Irma Mulciber, a third year, ended up analyzing him. Apparently, she didn't think the Peverells were really that special and tried to prove Harry as weak. Of course, he couldn't allow that so he lashed out with his magic and knocked her eight feet back and into a bookshelf. And he walked away. Because really, life is only as difficult as you make it.

* * *

After the display, the Slytherins respected him more. But Harry didn't again show off his power. He didn't even let his aura be seen by those who were magic-sensitive. He knew somewhere in his late second year, Tom would learn how to see magical auras and Harry didn't want to re-attract Tom's attention again because of his "potential".

So for the rest of first year, he didn't try to impress anyone. No, he wasn't seen as powerful at all. He was known as the kid who was friends with everyone. He had study groups with Ravenclaws, played exploding snap with Gryffindors, and sat in corners and had conversations with Hufflepuffs. With Slytherins, he was slightly more isolated. They didn't ignore him, nor did they condemn him, but they certainly didn't accept him either.

He was there when they wanted homework help (though they would never call it that) and if they wanted target practice. Well, kind of, because he would be standing and they would cast and he would dodge or throw up shields. There has yet to be a curse that hit him.

And during all of that, he only spoke to Tom when it was needed. But he watched, oh he _watched_ as the boy became more keen and observant. He watched Tom as Tom watched him and seemed to gather that there was _something_ off. But Harry was far too good at pretending to be someone he wasn't, and Tom was left with too many questions left unanswered.

He also watched as Tom gained his friends (followers) and manipulated them so they thought they were using him, when he had in fact been using them since the beginning. As he watched, he realized how brilliantly done it was, especially for a first year.

And he had walls built so high, there was no way over. And the walls were so deeply buried, there was no way under either. But the barriers were so intricately placed that it left people wondering if there were really any walls at all.

But at the end of the year, Harry saw all of the strategically places stockades threaten to tumble because one stupid, stupid,_ stupid_ Albus Dumbledore refused to let the child stay at Hogwarts for even a portion of the summer.

And thinking back, he wasn't sure what made him extend Tom an invitation to stay with him. Really, it just sort of happened. It wasn't anywhere in the plans! But he had seen some of Tom's memories and that orphanage… that _dreadful_ orphanage was no place for a wizard, especially not one as dark as Tom Riddle.

So for some reason he told him he was free to spend the summer with him, because he lives alone, and _Merlin damn it why did I do that._ And Tom accepted. So that brought them here, in the main foyer of the smallest Peverell manor, awkwardly standing around.

"There are five bedrooms," Harry spoke at last. "I have the master, which is up the stairs and the very last room on the left. You can have any of the other ones; whichever one you like most. The kitchen and sitting rooms are on the main level, there's at least one bathroom on each of the three floors, and there's a study on the second floor. The library has its own wards, so I'll have to key you in so you can use it – it's connected to the study."

Tom cut him off here. "But you aren't allowed to use magic." Harry stopped and turned to him with a curl to his lips and a gleam in his eyes.

"Aren't I?" He asked and pulled out his holly wand and performed a quick levitation spell on Tom's luggage. "The Peverells are of some of the most ancient blood there is. The amount of wards surrounding this little manor alone is astounding. You should really see all of the wards in the main manor though – it feels like the air itself is magic and filling your lungs. It's exhilarating for the magic-sensitive. Anyways, you're free to use your wand, but any action against me will leave you incapacitated on my floor, so I would advise against that."

Tom nodded, struck dumb from everything that had happened in the last two hours from when Harry first put out the offer (he didn't even think about it before accepting, which was probably stupid of him. But he did _not_ want to go back to that orphanage) to now, learning more about magic. Were all purebloods able to perform magic during breaks?

"There's also a very small attic, but it's off limits. Half of the basement is a potions lab, so feel free to use it. The other half is a wine cellar, which you can use if you want to, but don't you dare drink anything from older than 1850." Tom had never been so surprised in all of his life. Was Peverell telling him to get drunk? "On the west side of the manor is a small quidditch pitch and a broom shed. You can use it if you'd like, but I never have. On the south side you'll find a small building. There are many protection and expansion charms on it – it's a dueling chamber and I use it quite often. You can use that too. So really, just don't go in my room and the attic and the door in the ingredients cupboard downstairs and we'll be fine."

When Tom saw Peverell playing nice with everyone else, he knew that he couldn't possibly actually be that naïve and friendly. But now… while this definitely proved that he wasn't innocent and naïve, he was still acting as if they were friends. Who did this kid think he was?

But Tom accepted what he was told and some time while he was finding a room, Peverell disappeared. He didn't see him again for three days then not for a week after that. Their summer was spent avoiding the other person on the property and Tom found it to be the best summer he ever had. He was keyed into the library wards the first night and while he suspected they weren't all of the books he had, there was still enough information to make a man dizzy.

There was one house elf, a female named Pippin, who made any food he wanted. Tom decided the pureblood life was luxury and never wanted to leave. However, soon August came around which meant supplies letters which meant Hogwarts. So Tom went to Diagon Alley, bought second-hand materials, and got ready to join everyone back at the magical school.

But on September first, before they could floo to the station, Peverell stopped him. He handed him a small leaflet of transfiguration spells and went through the fireplace, leaving Tom behind. Later on the train, Tom looked at the spells and couldn't help but mentally thank Peverell for the opportunity to turn his rags into what would be considered top-of-the-line pureblood fashion.

Maybe he really was nice? Just for the hell of it?

* * *

Despite getting on somewhat well during the summer, second year was spent much like the first. Harry was underestimated and Tom was climbing higher in ranks. Harry continued to let everyone doubt his heritage (for a Peverell couldn't possibly be that worthless. Sure, he knew his theory, but no one could actually recall seeing him _do_ any practical work other than what was required for class) and Tom tried to find his.

About halfway through the year, Tom had to accept the fact that there was no wizard or witch ever by the name of "Riddle", meaning he was at least a halfblood, if not muggleborn. The realization left him bitter for weeks, so he took out his negative energy on his Slytherin peers. By the time his anger had mostly burnt out, the lower years trembled with fear around him while the older years looked at him with a fair amount of respect.

However, Tom was careful to never let the students of other houses see his anger. To them, he was close to perfect, but therefore untouchable. They probably would have spoken to him more if not for _Peverell_.

Because to them, Harry _was_ the definition of perfect. He was kind and compassionate and more than once that year, Tom saw him comforting a first year. Even the Slytherins found him to be nice and approachable! They often went to him for help understanding their homework or to get their essays checked before handing them in.

And that made Tom angry because while he was slowly gaining the notice and respect of the upper years, Peverell had the lower ones wrapped around his fingers. Why didn't Tom have that?

As a result, Tom considered extending an offer of an alliance, but when he perfected his natural gift of reading auras, he decided against it. Because Black and Lestrange and Dolohov and hell, even _Avery_ had more power than him! There was absolutely not even a resemblance of power surrounding Peverell and it made him sneer, because what everyone was saying was true. Horatio Peverell was weak, worthless, and must be a fake. It was really the only explanation.

But it didn't make sense, because he was in the Peverell Manor. Harry wouldn't have been able to access the wards if he wasn't a Peverell. So perhaps it wasn't a home belonging to the Peverell family after all? Maybe he made it all up?

Despite his questions and suspicions, after second year ended, Tom accepted Peverell's offer to stay with him once more.

* * *

**IV**

Tom looked curiously towards the cauldron that held a strange orange substance in it. It was rare that Harry utilized his potions lab, and even rarer that he left something in it bubbling.

While Tom was trying to figure out what potion it was (for it surely wasn't anything he recognized – something that irked him greatly), he noticed when there was a sudden burst of magic coming from the cauldron and watched as it expanded. He knew immediately what it was from his own experience with them: it was an alarm that was no doubt tied to Peverell to warn him when the potion needed to be checked.

He was proven correct when Harry opened the basement door not a minute later. Tom watched from the corner of his eye (while still paying close attention to his own potion – it wouldn't do to mess it up because he was too sidetracked) as Peverell approached the now-yellow substance and analyzed it closely. After a few moments of casting spells at it, he nodded in satisfaction and took it off of the flame.

Tom saw Harry disappear into the ingredient storage room and come back seconds later with three phials in his hands. The soon-to-be-third-year was shocked when he identified them to hold dragon blood, ground manticore horn, and slices of basilisk skin. What the hell was he making if he required those ingredients? He couldn't be powerful or smart enough to be able to use them could he?

But Tom watched as Peverell measured out the manticore horn and sprinkled it in, stirring clockwise then counterclockwise carefully afterwards. After that, he added some newts' eyes (that were in a dish next to him from the beginning) and the dragon blood before placing the cauldron back on the flame and adding more fire to it, making it hotter.

After that, he sat back and watched his potion for a few moments, and Tom found himself watching intently as well. Never before had he seen such an intricate potion being brewed. Together, they witnessed the potion go from yellow to a bright blue and it was only when it dulled to an indigo that Harry stood again. Tom was knocked out of his awed state when the boy spoke for the first time.

"You're running out of time to put the sphinx hair in." It was spoken casually and Tom was surprised to see that he was right – his temporary sight enhancing potion (he was proud to state it was a fifth-year OWLs-level potion) would be useless if the next ingredients weren't added within the next three-and-a-half minutes or so. Tom rushed to do that while keeping one eye on Peverell.

The other boy was adding one quarter slices of basilisk skin at a time until four minutes and two and a half slices later, he lowered the fire level and let the potion simmer. Tom felt him place another alarm charm on the potion – this one for twenty-three minutes exactly – and placed his remaining ingredients back in the cupboard. He then left the basement.

Tom was left mulling over what just happened. It was assumed by most Slytherins that Peverell wasn't actually capable of doing anything, but it was just proven that he could successfully make a complex potion that Tom didn't recognize. Clearly, the boy was hiding something.

He looked curiously towards the storage cupboard. While Tom was given free reign of most of his ingredients, he knew he couldn't access all of them. There was a door at the very back of the small room that had wards on it, and Tom was positive that was where he kept his most expensive and rare ingredients.

He wasn't allowed in there last summer, and it was the same this summer except for one change. When he arrived, Harry took him down to the basement almost immediately and disappeared into the cupboard. He then reemerged holding a few semi-rare ingredients and gave them to Tom, telling him that they were his to use. "You'll get more next summer" he had told him, if he returned of course.

But the ingredients he just used were much harder to find, which left him wondering what else he had behind that small little door.

Tom shook off the feeling. Perhaps he'd find out next summer.

* * *

Summer that year was much like the first one, only Peverell wasn't quite as absent as before. Tom saw him occasionally in the sitting room and the study and they sometimes got food at the same time, though they never ate together.

Despite spending over two months in the same vicinity, Tom only saw Harry use his wand twice more, and both were for pointless actions. He went back to doubting his competence at doing anything more than smiling and giving away his family fortune. Then, inevitably, the Hogwarts letters came again and they were back to where they started: not quite allies, not quite foes.

It was about then that Dumbledore decided to interfere.

"Tom, my boy," Tom and all of the surrounding students stopped to look at the Transfiguration professor.

"Yes, sir?" Tom asked; the conversation was only just beginning but the boy already found himself irritated.

"It has come to my attention that you did not stay at your home this summer." He waited for an answer to the question he didn't ask.

"I stayed with a friend." He replied, damning Dumbledore the whole time. He didn't want to call Peverell a friend, but saying his name would lead to more questions and saying an ally or follower wouldn't work either. Not that Peverell was his follower. Not yet at least – perhaps when he was more powerful. Then his connections could prove useful.

"And who was that? It's not safe to be somewhere without any of us knowing where. We don't want you in harm's way. I'm sure you understand why you must go back to the orph-"

"Of course sir," Tom bit out, reluctance apparent in his tone; he didn't want anyone hearing where he lived.

"Good, good! And perhaps you could go back for winter break as well." Dumbledore looked at the third-year expectantly.

"Maybe" he said. Maybe when Hell freezes over. Maybe when kneazles fly. Maybe when Dumbledore stops being such a bastardly old goat.

The students looked at him in confusion and Tom wanted to curse the world.

* * *

Harry looked at the plethora of books with excitement. He had finally found Rowena Ravenclaw's secret section of the castle (right by the owlery) and in it was the ultimate library. There were hundreds of books – maybe thousands – and at least half of them were priceless. It was perfect for Harry's somewhat-recent love of knowledge.

He was also feeling particularly proud of himself. Ravenclaw's room was the fourth and final Founders room he found. Salazar Slytherin's was obviously the chamber, but he also found Helga Hufflepuff's – a comfortable area perfect to live in that took up half of the sixth floor – and Godric Gryffindor's – a large weapons room that was actually unattached to the castle. It, like Slytherin's chamber, was underground, but it was all the way under the quidditch pitch.

Harry had spent a good portion of second year looking for the rooms, but there was a reason they had never been found. Helga's had only one entrance that was through a portrait that housed no person. Only pure, harmless intent could convince the doorway to open and emit him. He had found that one right before winter break and therefore stayed that year.

His finding of Godric's in April of second year was completely accidental. He tripped over what looked like merely a peculiar rock, but when he picked it up it did a full reading of his magic and suddenly Harry found himself in a circular weapons room under the ground. Since then, he had become quite proficient at throwing knives, though he refused to touch a sword due to one instance involving a too-heavy sword and resulting in a headache.

But neither of those areas had any books, to his great frustration. After all, he became quite the bookworm after the war, and there were remarkably few books in the Hogwarts library that he had yet to read.

And so now, coming across Rowena's (she was the only one intelligent enough to layer wards upon wards and weave charms through spells through jinxes to keep the simple wooden door from being discovered or broken into) in early November of his third year, he realized he had enough books to last him through his remaining years at Hogwarts.

_And_ he could take them home, unlike the ones in the library. This means he could go back to the manor for break and enjoy some fine reading. Harry absently wondered how Tom would react to the books. His birthday was December thirty-first, right? Perhaps Harry could get him a book-shaped gift… And if it were only a copy of an original, surely Rowena wouldn't mind?

* * *

Tom fought as hard as he could to keep his scowl from crossing his face, but he knew he failed to succeed when one of the first-years looked at him then flinched away. The little girl turned to hide her face in Peverell's cloak and the older boy stroked her light hair gently.

"Hush now, Selena, he won't hurt you. He's just having a bad day, is all. Haven't you at some point?" The girl – Selena Selwyn, he realized, now that he heard her first name – nodded shyly and Peverell smiled at her. "Yeah, me too. Now, why don't you go get some rest?" The girl hurried from the common room to her dormitory and both third-years watched her leave.

Peverell then turned to Tom and raised an eyebrow. "So what's wrong with you?" He asked, and Tom realized that this was the first time they had spoken since summer.

"None of your damned business, Peverell." The mentioned boy rolled his eyes and set up a privacy ward.

Harry sat in one of the large armchairs. "Perhaps not, but I'm making it my business anyways. What's happened that's got your knickers in a twist?" Tom scowled directly at Peverell and stuck his nose in the air.

"I said it's none of your god-damned business-"

"Ooh, don't say His name in vain, Tom." He waited…

"You shut the hell up, Peverell! You don't fucking know my life!"

"No, none of us do, huh? But let's keep in mind that you've spent the last two summers in _my_ home, so I can guess. Strange how you've never mentioned a home or parents…"

"Going by your rules, we should also keep in mind that during both of those summers, it was only the two of us in one large manor. I don't recall any parents around, either."

Harry looked at him carefully before nodding. "You're right. Mine are dead."

Tom gaped at his casual admission. He then set his mouth in a firm line and looked at Peverell closely. Alright, so he just spoke of something personal, what does he get out of it?

"I inherited the manor from my ancestors so it is where I stay."

"Then why do you invite me?" The question was out before he realized he was speaking. Tom berated himself; Harry probably wouldn't even understand what he was asking.

"You mean why do I let you stay so long in a house so old and historic?" Okay, maybe he _would_ understand. Despite mentally yelling at himself for it, Tom nodded. "Well, that's simple, really. You clearly did not wish to go back to your home-"

"A house, not a home" Tom corrected, quieter. Harry gave a small, sad smile that made Tom wonder what he's been through to understand exactly what he meant.

"Of course," he agreed softly. Tom wanted desperately to hit the boy who made it so easy to feel relaxed. "Your house, then. And Dumbledore was being an arse and wouldn't let you stay here, where I know for a fact there are plenty of rooms and a few teachers available at all times. So I invited you to join me." Harry fastened a beautiful, innocent smile on his face and looked around to the few students in the room who looked like they wanted to hear past the spell but could not. He waited for the voice belonging to the boy who he was slowly manipulating into telling Harry of his orphanage.

It was silent for several moments until Tom finally spoke up. "He's making me go back to the orph- my house for Yule."

Harry watched him closely and the future dark lord fought the urge to shift under the inspection. "How is he going to make you? Surely he won't actually walk you up the steps and to your room, right?" Tom shook his head.

"Of course not, but he will make sure I board the train, so I can't pretend to stay here."

Harry shook his head. "You wouldn't be able to anyways. He controls the wards in this castle; he knows exactly who is in and out at all times." Tom looked frustrated. "So do neither. I'll be going home this year; you're welcome to join me."

Tom stared. There _must_ be some ulterior motive to letting him stay all of the time, but _what was it_? Nevertheless, both boys took the same portkey that year when they reached London.

* * *

Harry hummed as he cracked two eggs and added them to the milk and oil. He whisked them together, stopping only to turn the wizarding radio up as it played "Gift me a Cauldron" for the holiday spirit.

He knew Tom was watching discretely by the doorway to the large kitchen, but paid him no mind. He merely added the ingredients together and mixed only enough for the dry ones to be wet, purposely leaving many chunks while doing so.

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Tom open and close his mouth many times. Taking pity on the boy who seemed to have never had a nice Christmas, Harry spoke.

"Do you like doughnuts?" Tom jumped, startled. Harry paused in his pouring the muffin mix into pans to take his sugar cookies out of a wizarding oven that worked so well, he wondered why they ever stopped producing them.

"Pardon?" Tom asked and Harry elaborated.

"Doughnuts: do you like them? Or maybe fasnachts – I had those once and they were very good. Have you ever had them? They're basically German doughnuts. I think." Tom stared in incomprehension. He didn't answer and it didn't seem to matter to Harry if he did or not. "I'm going to make some for Christmas. Feel free to take some when I do."

Tom shook his head in bewilderment. They were not _friends_. Why was _Peverell_ acting as though they were?

* * *

On Christmas morning, Tom traveled to the kitchen and found Peverell sitting at the table with dozens of rhombus-shaped pieces of dough spread out upon it, rising.

"Help me cook them?" Harry had asked. Years later, Tom would still be unable to share why he felt compelled to say yes.

So together, Harry fried the dough in a pan of oil and Tom put them in paper bags containing confectioner's sugar and a brown sugar and cinnamon mixture and shook them delicately. Tom figured he should feel weird or out of place, but could only summon an intense feeling of longing for a family he could have grown up doing this with.

That morning, they shared their first-ever meal side-by-side in the manor.

* * *

A book fell onto Harry's desk with a loud _thud_. The raven-haired boy awoke with a shout, fell out of his desk chair, and dropped the book he had fallen asleep reading on the floor. He regained his senses quickly and jumped up, brushing his clothes off in the process.

"What the hell?" He demanded and shot a half-hearted glare towards Tom, who he discovered was standing in front of his desk with his arms crossed firmly over his chest. His face was twisted into a scowl, but there were multiple emotions bubbling in his eyes that rid the thought that he was only angry.

"What is this?" Tom hissed, in danger of bleeding over to parseltongue.

Harry frowned at him. "What does it look like it is? It's a book." He looked around and noticed it was dark out. "Damn it, how long was I asleep for?"

But Tom ignored him. "Did you give this to me?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Yes, but if you don't want it I'll take it back."

"_This is written by Rowena Ravenclaw herself!_" Harry nodded.

"Yes, that _is_ why her name is on the cover, is it not?" Tom only stared. The silence filled the room until it seemed they were swimming in it.

"Why?" It was apparent what he was asking.

"You've kept me company the last two summers, Tom. I think that calls for a gift."

"But this is priceless!"

"It's not like it's the original copy. I wouldn't just give those away haphazardly. Though it _is_ the only other copy made." Tom stared. Harry stared right back. "I don't see why you're complaining. I've read that book and let me tell you, the information it holds is outstanding."

Tom had so many questions in his eyes that still weren't answered to his satisfaction. Why? How did Harry get the book? Are there more? Why him? Doesn't he worry Tom would sell it for millions of galleons? But no, it likely holds information lost through time. To be one of the only two people to know the knowledge is… incredible. Tom knows this. It's invaluable. He would never sell it.

Tom slowly picked up the book from the desk and left the study to read it.

"Happy Birthday, Tom," Harry whispered softly. The boy paused, but didn't look back.

* * *

After break passed, the students of Hogwarts arrived back at school only to realize that Tom, like everyone else (except for the Slytherin upper-years) had fallen under Horatio Peverell's spell. They would occasionally catch him staring at the gem-eyed boy in a combination of respect and wonder.

It was only when a young, first-year Slytherin asked why he stared at him so that he realized what he was doing. They did not see him do it again.

* * *

**V**

The rest of third year passed by in much the same way as the two years before and as did the summer after. When they arrived back at the manor, Tom was given the same semi-rare ingredients as the year before as well as two average-sized dragon scales, a strip of a dementor's cloak, and one single strand of unicorn hair.

After that happened, Tom swallowed his pride and thanked Peverell. The other boy merely waved his hand in a dismissive gesture and told him not to worry about it.

When Hogwarts letters came, the boys left for Diagon Alley the same day and went to their first stop together: the book store. Harry offered Tom some galleons but the other refused, saying he wouldn't accept any charity (or no more than he already had). Harry only shrugged.

However, when they were back at the castle, they went back to how they always were. They didn't speak in the hallways, never paired for projects, and sat far away from each other at meals. The only problem was that there was still a room and bathroom shared between the two of them (and Selwyn, though he was pulled out of Hogwarts by his father the year before) and as they grew older, they spent more time perfecting their looks (and their masks). This led to many short arguments about how the other needed to hurry up and "stick to the schedule" – not that there was one.

There was also more than one occasion where Tom would get impatient and pound on the bathroom door while Harry was showering. He would then threaten to come in and while he never acted on his attempted intimidation, Harry would still hurry to finish.

But the only notable happening was when one of the Slytherins heard Tom speaking parseltongue.

Immediately, rumors began and spread and grew and soon students were staring at Tom in fear, thinking he was evil and would hurt them in their sleep. Harry found humor in the fact that Tom had to work even harder to regain his image as a golden boy. He ended up offering personal tutoring for some first years to gain everyone's approval back.

Even though it was much work, Tom would claim it was worth it to hear what people said about the rare ability. He learned then that parseltongue was a gift that apparently belonged only to those related to Salazar Slytherin himself. It helped him greatly because the Slytherins began to wonder whether he was really a mudblood at all and his rank in the hierarchy was bumped up a few notches.

Harry wondered how everyone would react to him being a parselmouth as well. He didn't fancy finding out.

Eventually, like the three years before, fourth year ended and Tom and Harry were standing in their dormitory the morning the train would leave.

"I'm not going to your manor this year." Harry paused in his packing of his toothbrush.

"Why not?" He asked, fighting to stay nonchalant. Even though he was loath to admit it, he genuinely enjoyed Tom's presence after four continuous years of it.

"I'll be staying with Dolohov this summer." Harry mentally called up everything he knew about Antonin Dolohov. He was one of Voldemort's closest, he was a very low-level pureblood, and he was highly underestimated. He also killed Moody, harmed Hermione and killed Remus – his poor, beloved Remus.

"Very well," Harry agreed amicably. "I'll see you next year then, I suppose." He didn't bother telling Tom that Dolohov likely wouldn't have any new books nor would he have wards strong enough to do undetected magic in. The summer would probably be spent mostly on enforcing connections between old pureblood families.

Harry tried to convince himself that it didn't bother him – the fact that Tom was taking the same path he did the first time. It was what he had planned and expected, but now that Harry knew him, he saw that there was a fair amount of good in him that was merely being shoved deep inside and locked up ten times over.

While gaining the Hallows made him more susceptible to dark arts and magic, Harry was still a genuinely good person and he felt at war with himself. Should he follow Tom to the dark? Should he try to lead him to the light?

Harry shook his head to dispel the meaningless thoughts. It didn't matter. Tom wasn't there anyways; Dolohov was more important to him. And why did he care? They weren't friends.

Still, the raven-haired boy felt oddly empty that summer in a house far too large for one person.

* * *

When Tom boarded the train on September first for his fifth year, he was unsure of where to sit. Over the last three months, he had secured connections with some of the purest families there were. Names like Black, Malfoy, Rosier, and Nott were now part of his associations and really, he should feel nothing but pride at that fact. He should go to the compartment they no doubt are sharing and claim his seat with them.

Instead, he was debating finding Peverell and seeing how he was.

Peverell! Of all people! And if he was ever asked (though no one would even think of asking him), Tom would refuse that he wanted to see the boy at all. But the truth – even if he admitted it only to himself – was that he had _missed_ the boy this past summer.

But no, no, that wasn't true. He missed his potion ingredients. He missed the large potions lab and open sitting room. He missed the room he always stayed in, which had a beautiful view of the mountains. He missed the large house and its unconnected dueling chamber. He missed the chance to practice undetected magic. He overall missed the _manor_, not the _boy_. No, really. He did.

Why was he even debating this?

So Tom found himself peeking into the compartment windows trying to find Peverell to see how much the boy missed him. However, he was left surprised when he found not a boy, but a _man_.

And oh, what a beautiful man he was.

Only not really – about the man part, not the beautiful part. Because he was beautiful, very much so. That's not what he was talking about! He was more grown up – well, obviously he would be after time had passed, no matter how little – but it wasn't like he was an adult who was focused on settling down and getting a job or anything. No, Tom wasn't trying to say that he was, or imply it or anything, he just-

Damn it, why did Peverell make him flustered so?

Harry had grown an inch or two – he was now only just shy of Tom's height, which hadn't increased at all the previous three months – and his hair looked more controlled. It also touched his shoulders now, which it hadn't quite reached in June. His eyes were the same deep green and skin the milky white, though Tom thought it now looked incandescent.

His stance, also, remained unchanged. Tom realized this, but it was only after his months with conceited wizards and witches (because yes, while he may long to be like the purebloods, he is not blind to the fact that they are ridiculously vain) that he could label his posture as what it was: power.

Power and confidence and the sense that there was something so achingly _blatant_ that _how could you miss it?_ And Tom was left wondering 'what did I miss? What is Harry that is so unlike anything I've ever encountered?'

And then, it struck him.

Ethereal; otherworldly; _not human_.

There was something about Harry that wasn't quite like anyone else not only in Scotland or England, but in the entire world. There was a grace about him that couldn't be matched and a beauty that did not fit this planet.

But that… was absurd. The thought alone was laughable. Tom was just looking too far into things, as usual. Peverell looked just how he always did, there was just something messing with his mind, with his head. As he turned to retreat to the pureblood compartment Tom felt more assured. The feeling would abate; it was only because of the break that the Slytherin seemed so different. It would go away. No, really. It would.

* * *

It didn't.

That feeling – that wonderful feeling (that he tried so desperately not to acknowledge) of his insides being compacted so tightly that they ceased to function? To exist? It didn't go away.

Tom could do nothing but hope it wasn't obvious how he found the male so beautiful – a sin within itself (at least according to Mrs. Cole). He had yet to speak directly to Harry, and was loath to begin now, but when he was around the raven his mouth threatened to work itself and leave Tom with the aftermath.

The brunette stood and began to pace.

He had hoped it was mere attraction – something he hadn't ever planned on experiencing – and that spending enough time around Harry would wear off the novelty he held. However, it was now November and Tom was still captivated. And it went so much deeper than the skin! Harry's very being was calling to Tom and the heir of Slytherin (something he had confirmed while with Dolohov) could not resist.

Harry's power was intoxicating; his beauty, a drug. His words entwined with Tom's psyche and haunted him in both day and night. And then there was just something else, something so…

Tom groaned and plopped back onto his bed. He could hear the water running in their shared bathroom and knew that Harry was taking a shower. And wasn't _that_ just a great mental image…

_No! _He wasn't allowed to think that way! The brunette walked over and banged his fist against the wooden door.

"Hurry the hell up, Peverell!" _Harry _"You aren't the only one here!"

When there was no response, Tom yelled louder.

"I swear to Merlin if you don't finish within the next thirty seconds I _will_ come in there!" Silence.

And, for the first time ever, Tom acted on his words and opened the door.

* * *

Harry hummed as he stepped out of the shower. He wrapped a towel on his waist and walked through the steam to reach the mirrors and sink.

He left the water running simply because he knew it irritated Tom and he was hoping it would encourage him to finally speak. The brunette had been strangely quiet and frankly, Harry was sick of it. He missed the sardonic comments Tom would make when he thought no one was listening and the noncommittal hums when someone was saying something that he _really didn't care about_ and _for fuck's sake_ he just missed his voice, okay?

Harry heard the pounding on the door but didn't say anything, choosing to instead bask in the Slytherin's voice and let his words surround him. He says he would come in here? Yeah right, he never has before.

Harry sighed and shook his head like a dog. When that refused to dry his hair even the slightest bit (and really, the steam wasn't helping), he pulled it up until it was ponytail-esque and squeezed until some drops fell out. He then let it back down and ruffled it so that it looked more like his normal hair. He went to turn towards where he knew his clothes were but it was then that he felt a stronger body press against the back of his own.

Harry cursed his inattentiveness and stiffened. Who could get into the bathroom? Him and Tom, that was all. Tom.

"What is this?" A low voice asked as they gently lifted the hair at the back of Harry's neck. It was only due to the years they had spent together that Harry was able to recognize the faint quiver in the other's voice. Harry half-heartedly tried to break free of the human bond, but when the arm around his chest failed to relent, he settled with instead turning to look at his captor in the eye.

"Tom," Harry said simply and it was then that he noticed Tom's lack of iris.

Tom held him closer and Harry shuddered.

"You're not human,"

It wasn't a question but rather a statement; still, Harry nodded.

"I thought the very idea of it was inane," Harry waited for Tom to say more. He seemed to be working everything out in his mind and Harry was reluctant to think rationally. While a part of his mind was screaming to push the future dark lord away, the rest refused to listen.

Tom breathed the raven's scent in deeply and Harry wondered if he realized what he was doing.

"You're a Peverell,"

"I am,"

"They were known for their necromancy,"

"They were,"

"There is a tale…"

"There is,"

A pause.

"It's not just a tale, is it?" Harry blinked and looked seriously at Tom.

"No, it's not."

Another pause.

Then, ventured: "The Master of Death?" Harry reached out and touched Tom's cheekbone.

"'You cannot master Death, only become it'." Tom leaned into the touch.

"Death, then?"

"Yes."

And for Tom, that was it.

He breathed in again, though this time not as deeply. Harry smelled like the forbidden forest: wet and dark and _lively_ and free. He, Death, smelled like Life – something Tom was only ever given a taste of when he was with Harry at the manor.

And, as mentioned before, way before – before Harry seemed so powerful and before Harry gave him an expensive gift and before Harry gave him a _home_ and before _Harry_ – Tom was nothing if not intelligent.

Tom pressed closer to him still and Harry found his back pressed against the cold sink. They were now chest to chest, eye to eye, heart to beating heart. And as Tom broke eye contact only to press cold lips against a pale neck, he finally figured out the answer to a question that he had asked himself for years – _why?_

Why did he bother with everything he did? Why did he torture the kids at the orphanage? Why did he wish to be put in Slytherin? Why did he accept Harry's invitation to his manor so quickly? Why did three months away from him hurt? Why, why, why?

Because _Harry_.

Because now he knew that somehow, someway, his subconscious had been fighting to put them together since the beginning and as Harry shivered under his mouth, he finally understood. Because this man was _his_ and he was overwhelmingly _Harry's_.

Tom moved his head so he was biting gently at Harry's jaw and placed his hands on the other's hips. The raven trailed his fingers from Tom's abdomen up until they were bunched in the black fabric of his Hogwarts robes – alternating between clenching and unclenching against his chest.

"_Tom_…" Harry breathed and the Slytherin groaned. His movements became more focused – he gripped Harry's hipbones and pulled his pelvis directly against his own. Harry gasped and moved his hands further up to rest against his neck, then his cheeks. He pulled Tom's face up from where it had reached his collarbone and for the first time pressed their lips firmly together.

It was… everything Tom could ever hope to have. This moment, right here, was the only time in his life he had ever truly reached the state of bliss. Tom gnawed on Harry's lower lip and his jaw fell open an inch. Mouths slid together and tongues met and the brunette slowly but surely backed up until the two were out of the humid bathroom and back to their dorm.

When the cold air hit wet skin, Tom could feel Harry's nipples harden. It was only then that he was reminded that he hadn't dressed and was still in simply a towel. He moved his hands again until they were against Harry's bare chest and without waiting, tweaked one of his nipples.

Harry arched against him and this time it was Tom's turn to groan. Not wanting to put it off any longer, Tom pushed Harry down until he was lying flat against the brunette's bed. He felt pressure on his shoulders and paused in his exploring of Harry's body long enough to slide his robe from his body.

Harry went to work quickly on his thin white button-up shirt and Tom continued to suck and bite and play with his nipples, making the raven-haired boy produce the most obscene noises. Harry suddenly started and backed away. Tom was disordered until he spoke:

"Wand – silence – do it –" Tom understood and pulled the long piece of yew from his back pocket. He cast a quick silencing spell as well as some high-level locking charms before throwing the wand away and diving back to attack Harry's mouth with vigor.

When Harry succeeded in unbuttoning Tom's shirt, it was quickly thrown away as well and the man on the bed went for his trousers. There was no time for pre-intercourse pleasuring, no patience for pleasing the other. They could do all of that later; for now, the moment was just right and they weren't about to delay it further.

Seemingly seconds later, Harry was stomach-down on Tom's bed while the brunette was over him, preparing him carefully. The heir of Slytherin had never imagined he could ever be so gentle with someone, but Harry was different. Harry… was simply too wonderful to even envision hurting.

When Tom was fully sheathed in Harry's warm body, both men groaned.

"Move, Tom," Harry moaned and the brunette rushed to do so, the sound of his name on his lover's lips making his movements frantic.

And when they were at the height of their pleasure, Tom uttered one word that made the other come undone: "Harry…" It was the first time he had heard his name from Tom, especially in such a way, and the raven was both lost and found as he came to Tom's voice in his ear.

And when Tom felt Harry compress around him, he too was engulfed by the abundant feelings of euphoria.

When the ecstasy wore away and only the contented bliss remained, Harry spoke.

"The shower is still going,"

Tom hummed and looked down at the man in his arms.

"Well then we'd better go put it to good use."

And later, Tom would reflect on how he had plans for this year: plans to find Slytherin's chamber and research advantages he could have over his enemies. And later, he would realize how far Harry threw him off of his original schemes back when he first received his letter to Hogwarts School.

And later, he'd put it out of his mind – because while having the world would be wonderful, having Harry was just about the same thing.


End file.
